


A Brood of Vipers

by leakypaintpen



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Rape/Non-con References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-21
Updated: 2013-03-21
Packaged: 2017-12-06 01:46:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/730220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leakypaintpen/pseuds/leakypaintpen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Riddles persist, where memory does not</i>. Galen and a meditation on violence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Brood of Vipers

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt by astreamofstars at bsg_epics. Apologies for the heavy-handed snake trivia, and to Edith Hamilton for a bit of swiping.

People used to assume that as the son of a priest and an oracle, Galen had a rigid, rulebound upbringing. Lots of dull sermons and prayers, not much pick-up pyramid.

That wasn’t actually the case. The Lords reveal truth through metaphor and mystery, and his parents emulated their example. When he danced naked among open copies of  _Nymph_  in the household sanctum, it wasn’t for the shock of desecration so much as it was to get a straight answer, for once. A thunderbolt, not a frakking riddle. That’s part of why he enlisted the minute he was out of his father’s sight.

\---

Turns out his past is all a programmed fabrication. But the riddles persist, where memory does not.

\---

He saw it first in Crashdown’s face when everything went tits up on Kobol, and shortly again as a cold refraction glinting out of Baltar’s eyes.

When the SAR returned to  _Galactica_ ,Tyrol barely took three steps onto the hangar deck before he lost what little his stomach held. Apollo crouched nearby, rubbing Cally’s shoulder as she continued the dry heaves that started in the Raptor, and giving Chief an awkward grimace of sympathy.

“Adrenalin come-downs can be rough,” the CAG said quietly. “Especially after… an experience like yours.”

Galen just nodded in response, too preoccupied to say anything. The ugliness of that blind, animal fury vibrating from Crash had been sickening enough, but it was the thrumming in his own blood, resonating in kind, that he was trying to purge from his memory as he retched out his insides.

\---

A mystery his (fictional) mother once posed to him: Orpheus, beloved of the Muses, with his singing lyre could lead trees and wild beasts through the wilderness. The very rivers turned course to catch the barest strains. Yet on his wedding day a viper stung his bride, killing his beloved as she danced in a field to his playing.

\---

In hindsight, it’s a wonder he managed to serve ten years in the Fleet before he noticed the primal need to  _hurt_ , in himself or anyone, and even then only after seven months of war. He’s in the military, for frak’s sake (or is it “was in the military”? Hard to tell where he stands with the Admiral, these days), and what is the service but an acceptable, controlled outlet for such a thing?

\---

The first healer carried a serpent-twined staff; one of his ancient cults on Gemenon draped sacred snakes around the sick who flocked to his temples. Young aesculapian vipers bear more than a passing resemblance to grass snakes – perhaps the gods put one in Eurydice’s meadow, misplacing someone else’s blessing.

\---

After Boomer, Galen needed to rethink a few things. Plenty of time for that in the  _Pegasus_  brig as he waited to die.

That hideous rage - it practically got Sharon raped, even as it killed that bastard Thorne. It drove Cally to shoot Boomer, and Baltar to shoot Crash. Soldiers were supposed to serve and protect. What were any of them doing anymore? When and how had they all lost their heads? Were they ever sane to begin with?

He and Helo were released before he could come up with any good answers. Something about Admiral Cain getting shot by an abused escapee. Kairos and the Moirai sure loved irony.

And then –  _Oh gods, Cally, Cally –_

\---

Sounds traveling through air can’t actually charm a snake; its cochlea only picks up vibrations from the ground. Would Eurydice have lived had she been less light of foot?

\---

New Caprica was supposed to be a chance to rest, to start over. Then the Cylons found them.

For a while the urge to tear something apart was useful – it kept them alive, kept them from going to pieces or freezing up with fear. But once off that miserable rock they couldn’t stop just yet, not when the dead and the lost demanded justice, so night after night Galen stood in a secret circle to hear and weigh crimes, doing what must be done.  
  
Connor had looked to him after screaming into Jammer’s tear-streaked face, demanded: “Saving Cally – does that make up for  _killing my son_?”  
  
He was right and he was wrong and they didn’t have time to stop and really sort this all out because if they paused for a minute that wild emptiness in Connor’s eyes would overpower and swallow them whole, and then what would remain?  
  
So Galen turned away, said, “No, it doesn’t,” and watched Connor hit open the airlock.  
  
After Starbuck kicked Gaeta and shrieked for him to beg, Galen had to turn back. He had been fooling himself. There was never any justice. They were already consumed.

 ---

Serpents are creatures of reaction, lashing out for survival when cornered. The viper saw only a shadow descending, heavy and fast. It couldn’t acknowledge the light it stole from the woman’s eyes.

\---

Galen can think a little more clearly these days, since Starbuck cleared up the mystery of that frakking song, but given the sheer volume of unanswered questions he’s facing, having one less distraction doesn’t help much.

That’s his go-to excuse these days, when he wonders at his own erratic behavior. Too many lives lived, too much to sort out in his head. It’s only natural he’s an emotional basket case.

But when he’s drunk off his ass on the paint stripper that comes from his still, when he’s honest with himself, he admits: It wasn’t subconscious rage at his reprogramming that drove him to terrible deeds. Not frustration with his CO. Not some secret Cylon agenda, or fallen human nature. Not anguish from betrayal and a broken heart, or a simmering need for vengeance, or any of a thousand other shitty reasons.

No. Mindfrakker though the “priest” was – God, too many layers of irony in that counseling session to peel back, now that he knows he really is a Cylon, that it was One relishing the opportunity to twist the knife in his creator – Cavil was right about one thing.

He’s screwed up, heart and mind. For better or worse, the snake in the grass lies in wait.

\---

And now here they stand. The final five survivors of a dead world, holding the keys to Hades and life everlasting. Galen reaches into the water and grabs one of the winding tubes connecting Sam to  _Galactica_  as Tory looks up at him.

“No matter what happens,” she whispers. They close their eyes, open themselves to

the onslaught of memory blurring Cally’s face melts into Sharon’s 

body lies limp in his arms while the  _mad whites o_ _f e _yes__ _shine across the barrier her arms rising to_ ward off blows and the pain

 _twisting her features a trickle of_ blood smears as she _screams her_ fistsmashesbone _against glass that muffles_

sobs  _a plea on her lips_

 _dark hand on the release_  no no no Cally

 _I did it_ I did this _what I had to do_ what have I done

\---

It coils in fear, mindless self-preserving anger. Rises –

Strikes.

And she falls.


End file.
